dead memories
by i set my sims on fire
Summary: His world is turning red - Kohta, in the aftermath of Lucy's revenge. Contains spoilers, and rated T for my paranoia.


**Warning**:** spoilers.**

**I apologize for anything in this that's not quite right, it's been a while since I watched Elfen Lied, sorry for anything that's off or impossible, etc.**

_dead memories_

He wakes up in hospital.

The walls are white. Everything is white, so white. His eyes hurt. His head hurts. His throat is dry, he feels as if he can't move underneath the stiff white sheets, dragged up to his shoulders. There is a window on the other side of the room, it is closed, shut tight. Outside, he imagines birds singing, sunlight, fresh air. He feels trapped. Where is he, and why is he here? He cannot remember anything, not a single thing. He isn't sure if his vision is blurred, because things aren't supposed to be this fresh, white and clean, it unnerves him. Something feels off. Something is wrong. He can't think clearly. Why can't he remember? What happened to him?

The room is empty. There is no one. He can't find the energy to move, or to speak. His throat is so dry, it burns, he longs for a glass of water. He feels so tired. Why is his heart beating so fast? He does not feel calm. Something is wrong. He can't talk. He is sure he is supposed to remember something, warn someone, but his eyes are heavy, his chest is tight. Something is wrong. What's wrong?

Outside of this room, away from the silence, there are footsteps, murmured words, voices. Nothing is clear. It is almost comforting, at the very least. It reminds him that he is not dead. He is breathing. He is alive. He is alive, but-

Kanae is not, his father is not, and there is a pink haired girl with horns out there, and they aren't friends, not anymore, and she's coming, she's coming-

His heart beat speeds up, he can hear it, it's so loud, too loud, it gives him a headache and echoes around the bright white room. Why can't anyone else hear him, and where is she- where is Lucy? He realises then, the sheets are growing damp from the sweat covering the palms of his shaking hands. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, it trails down his face. He bites his lip, so hard, it bleeds. He does not like the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and it takes enormous effort to pull his arm out of embedding stiff sheets, and he brushes a thin wrist against his mouth. Blood stains his skin, bright red blotches, and he stares at the scarlet smears. He feels sick, all he sees are his sisters limbs strewn around the train carriage, his father's head ripped from his shoulders, and so much crimson blood splattering the walls, the ground, Kanae's blood smeared on his face. She is dead. His vision blurs, his body convulses slightly, shaking, shivering. Goose bumps coat his skin, he is so hot, he is trapped. Lucy's soft voice plays in his mind over the thumping of his heart. 'I'm not killing you because we're friends', and 'The girl is next', and he wonders, Yuka, is she okay, but he can't find the words and there's no one to give him answers anyway. His throat closes up, he can't breath, but bile, vomit, rises anyway and then he's choking and coughing, and he throws up on the stiff white sheets. They aren't so white anymore. Wildly, blindly, he tears at his skin, ripping the flesh from his arms, his wrists, his hands, and his fingernails tear at his face. Blood bubbles on his skinny arms, and it trails down, a scarlet traintrack. His face is decorated with pink and red lines, criss-crossing his cheeks. Blood stains the stiff white sheets. His world is turning red because all he can see is Lucy standing amongst a sea of broken bodies, his sister, his father. She is the scary murderer.

His body shakes; convulses amongst the bloody sheets, a puddle of his own vomit. He hears a click, the door opens. A women enters, dressed in white. Everything is white. Her eyes widen.

Finally, he screams.

/

He later wakes up in a room where the walls are pretty and creamy and the curtains are pale green and the window is open, slightly, letting fresh air fall inside and he can breathe. There is no blood here. Decorative plasters covered in pictures of cartoon characters cross his arms, he no longer smells of vomit. His thoughts are still mixed up, he still sees Lucy behind his eyes. Covered in blood. The image looks wrong. He still feels her hand clasped in his, the look of wonder in her eyes when she saw the elephant. He sees the little innocence, and he shudders, recoiling at the way something so lost and so childlike could be like Lucy; murderous, or maybe even evil. It scares him.

He shudders, pulling the soft duvet up higher, over his nose, as if to smother himself. At least that way he could shut out the nightmares, the blurred images of dead bodies and disfigured limbs and blood, blood, blood. He does not smother himself. He is a child. He is a hopeless lost cause, alone in the world, now, because of a little lonely girl. Maybe Lucy is alone, too. He still doesn't understand her. He does not smother himself, does not bruise his throat and self-destruct. He hides, just like the little lonely boy he is. There is no one to tuck him into bed anymore. No one to chase away the nightmares except assorted nurses with sympathetic smiles, and their faces change every day, blurring into one body with eyes that change colour. They do not soothe his beating heart, they do not dry his little boy tears and the nightmares do not go away. They never go away, they never go away, they never go away.

Because every time he closes his eyes, Lucy is there. And no one gives him answers. Nobody tells him where Lucy is now, nobody listens to his hysterical warnings, nobody tells him if Yuka is okay. Nobody visits him. He is forgotten, abandoned by real life and real people and family, what family? Kohta's are dead.

He lies in bed, most days, and then doctors and child psychologists and grief counsellors come and visit him and he is deemed traumatised and is not permitted to go to the funeral because it'll cause him further grief. That's what some man says and Kohta argues but nobody listens to little boys who claim to have watched their family's limbs rip apart by a little girl with invisible arms and no physical contact. That's when they dub him crazy, shove him in a children's psychiatric unit where he gets a new bed and there are murals of sheep and rainbows on the walls, and the little kids look funny and he stops talking.

And then over time his memory grows hazy, and he's telling doctors and grownups with clipboards and biros that his little sister Kanae was sick and he doesn't remember any little girls and his dad died a long, long time ago in a car crash and 'Where am I?' and 'Why are you asking?' and the grownups glance at each other and send him outside. He listens with his ear pressed to the door as they talk about repressed memories and other long words he doesn't really understand, and he shrugs because he's been in this place for 3 months now and every morning he wakes up and something feels like it's missing but he doesn't feel like thinking about it, and.

Slowly, over time, he begins to forget completely.

/

Sometimes he dreams about her and the way her eyes shone with hate and how Kanae's limbs were strewn over the train carriage, and when he does, he wakes up and the beds wet and he's shaking, shaking, shaking.

But they are just that. They are just dreams. There are no little girls with hateful eyes and horns and pretty hair, and his sister was sick and his daddy died a long time ago in a car crash- 'I don't want to talk about this anymore'- and doctors stop taking notes and then his grandparents come to see him and they sit down and smile uneasily, holding his hand awkwardly as they listen to him talk of his father and his sister as if they weren't murdered, and the grief counsellors and the psychologists and the doctors- they all know the truth, but say nothing, let alone correct him when he talks of the ways they died, the ways his mind made up. After all, an orphan with some kind of memory repression is better than an orphan with recurrent nightmares and post-traumatic stress disorder and God knows what else.

Either way, Kohta isn't so sane, anymore.

Several more months pass and Kohta's memory reconstructs itself completely. His Dad died in a car crash, and his little sister died from a long-term illness she'd been battling since birth. Kohta has no memory of Lucy, no memory of torn apart limbs and mangled flesh and blood, blood, blood. He barely even remembers the time spent with cousin Yuka, or the things they did together. He lives with all these lies his head invented, and nobody bothers to correct him.

After a year, he is discharged. He moves in with his grandparents and his mind heals his wounds. He is okay, he is okay-

But sometimes, in the back of his mind, he hears his sister screaming.


End file.
